


Wild honey, when I dream of you.

by evelynemesis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Getting Back Together, Hate to Love, M/M, Niall and Gemma are only mentioned, insane use of curse words, they scream at each other a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23476963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evelynemesis/pseuds/evelynemesis
Summary: He thinks back to a time where morning runs – if he ever made it out of bed - were for two coffees instead of one; mornings where there was his grumpy-faced boyfriend in the seat next to his, moaning and complaining about it being too early, even if it was noon; mornings that used to end with coffee flavoured kisses and intertwined hands.It’s been a while since then, Harry thinks.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 20
Kudos: 172





	Wild honey, when I dream of you.

The day it happens, is a day that starts exactly like any other for Harry. One of those boring, apathetic days where he wakes up and he’s already tired, bored, and pissed off. 

It’s one of those days where he’s watching the world move and everything is in slow motion. Stuck in the morning traffic, Harry sees people rushing on the sidewalks in every direction and it feels foreign, strange, like he’s looking at them from outer space. Like he’s watching everything through a screen. 

He’s just not  _ there _ . 

Harry’s had quite a lot of these days lately. He thinks back to a time where morning runs – if he ever made it out of bed - were for two coffees instead of one; mornings where there was his grumpy-faced boyfriend in the seat next to his, moaning and complaining about it being too early, even if it was noon; mornings that used to end with coffee flavoured kisses and intertwined hands. 

It’s been a while since then, Harry thinks. 

He’s so completely lost in this weird, static bubble that seems to blissfully isolate him from the rest of the world, that when he registers the radio conversation coming from the speakers of his shiny new Tesla, an impulsive purchase made hoping that it would fill the void in his life, the words feel like a sharp slap on the face with a wet cloth. It instantly _ hurts _ . 

“… so I obviously didn’t believe her, right?” The presenter says chuckling, “Who drops a song in the middle of the night with no promo whatsoever. So I said to Jill to frick off and turned around to sleep.” 

Everyone laughs and Harry furrows his brows. Working in the industry himself, he’s always kind of in the loop on who’s dropping what and when, in order to keep everyone from overlapping. Well... at least they try. 

“And instead I was right!” a female voice cuts off his thoughts, sounding very smug, “he did it! He did it and the internet completely lost it!” 

At this point Harry is just listening to find out who they’re talking about. He’s finally off the main road and he has just a couple of minutes left before he’s back at his house. His fingers drumming impatiently on the steering wheel. 

“They truly did, man! My Twitter notifications literally blew up. And, if I can be completely honest, the song is a banger. I mean we always knew he was an amazing songwriter!” 

“Absolutely!” 

“But this song? Man, I had goosebumps! I started crying and I’m not ashamed to say it!” The man chuckles again. 

“I know, it’s like so… deep?” The female presenter intervenes, agreeing. “The way he’s telling you his story and the musical arrangement? Ah…” she moans, “don’t even get me started.” 

“You know what, Jill? I just want to listen to it again. So folks, for the one or two of you who just joined us and the land of the living, Louis Tomlinson dropped a single last night and it’s my new favourite thing after my mom’s pudding. So, without further ado, this is-” 

Harry has just passed the electric gate of his house when he hears  _ the _ name and he pushes on the brake pedal so hard that if it wasn’t for the seatbelt he’d have smashed against the windshield. The wheels make a cringeworthy screeching noise before the whole engine shuts off because he unconsciously released the gas pedal at the same time as well. 

Not that Harry registers any of it. His mind is currently a hive of frantic bees, flying blindly in every direction and above all the buzzing noise there’s just one word that makes sense to him: 

_ Louis _ . 

Harry grips the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turn white instantly. His fingertips are already starting to burn. He’s trying to breathe, he’s trying to rationalise, but tears are already pooling in his eyes as his throat clenches painfully around nothing. He silently mouths the name once, twice, at the third it already hurts too much. 

_ Breathe in _ . 

Louis released a song and he didn’t know about it. Louis registered, composed the music, had meetings about a new song and Harry didn’t know anything about it. 

Louis  _ wrote _ a song and for the first time in forever, Harry wasn’t the one who’d heard it first. 

There’s a sharp jab in his chest. 

_ Breathe out _ . 

Harry’s still struggling with keeping his breathing in check when the song finally starts. 

His eyes widen, it’s a ballad – that much is clear. The guitar intro is slow and melancholic, someone is humming along the beat. 

“ _ I remember the first time, _

_ how the world seemed to crash and then collide. _

_ I'm leaving in the night, I’m wearing down roads. _

_ They washed the sky and now it’s out to dry on the walls. _

_ The eyes are smiling but the heart is crying, _

_ the huge lie of a small rose. _

_ What remains of us belongs to the wind _

_ That greets me goodbye and leaves with you. _

_ But what has changed, baby, _

_ Where did you throw all my love? _ ” 

The rhythm is slow and painful. The melancholy of the guitar pulls constantly at the strings of Harry’s heart. 

It’s  _ them _ . It’s about them and Harry has absolutely no doubts about it. 

Leaving in the night, the allusion of a passing big storm, the bitter laughs they spat at each other between tears and shouted profanities. It’s all there.  _ All _ of it. There for Harry to find and torture himself over. 

The night Louis left, the whole sky was pouring down. Harry had run after him, catching up just outside the front of their house. Sheets of rain fell as they stood there, getting soaked and yelling at each other. 

“ _ Yeah, why don’t you just fucking leave? Isn’t that what you do? Isn’t it? Things get serious and you fucking leave-” _

_ “Things have been serious for ten years, Harry. Ten!”  _ Louis roared, stopping in his tracks. “ _ Ten fucking years of my life spent with someone who apparently thinks we don’t have anything in common anymore!”  _ He spat venomously. 

That’s not what Harry meant and Louis knew. 

But lately, when they were angry they just took it on each other. Words were twisted and bent until they assumed other meanings. If Harry saw white then Louis would only see black. There was no common ground, no spaces between the lines. Harmless bickering turned into big arguments in no time at all for the stupidest reasons. They started fighting about the take out orders, the undrunk teacups Harry left lying around, the insane amount of new Adidas shoes Louis was getting through PR. Even the sofa’s position in the living room, that has been the same since they moved in, was a good reason for them to start a battle. In fact, Harry thinks bitterly, that’s how it all started that night. 

Thinking of it now, Harry understands that they have a lot to apologize for, but even if they tried they would be just expired and tasteless excuses at this point. Just useless words, like the memories he ended up killing, like all the sensations he has let go. 

They kept going back and forth that night,  not caring who might hear their yelling. They kept vomiting words upon words with the sole purpose of hurting each other. Harry’s throat felt hoarse for days after. 

As Harry’s mind tunes back into the song on the radio, he hears Louis’ soft and steady rasp, no hint in his voice of the shivers that are currently going through Harry’s body. He realises how much he’s crying already, and wonders why it’s so easy for Louis to sing about them, to  _ write _ about them. 

Thinking about their mistakes, their love, the rights, the fights, the happy memories – thinking about  _ them _ is all Harry can do. Thinking about what went wrong, what the breaking point was, and why they’d let themselves reach it, has literally consumed him. 

Harry sees Louis everyday in every single thing he does. He sees Louis crying, laughing. He comes home and sees him smiling softly from the sofa. He lies in bed and sees him blessed out and naked beside Harry after making love. He thinks of him alone, while he cries out Harry’s name, while he curses him and Harry’s not there. 

Thinking about them is all Harry does during his days and it’s all he dreams about during the cold and lonely nights. 

But writing? Harry hasn’t written a single word in the last four months. He hasn’t been able to write a single word in exactly 122 days without his hand cramping, reminding him that the pain he feels isn’t just in his head, it’s real and his whole body is mourning Louis’ absence too. 

_ “I see you written on every wall, _

_ Every song tells me about you. _

_ You're everywhere, but not with me.  _

_ We built up walls that buried us alive. _

_ And for what it's worth I still find you between one brick and the other.” _

As the chorus ends, Harry hastily wipes the corners of his eyes. His phone is chiming like crazy, he reaches out to pick it up from the seat beside him where he threw it, but Louis’ voice at the start of the second verse makes him stop. 

_ “You know, I see you less beautiful _

_ I look at you now and you’re just not the same _

_ Yet someone still says that you’re my star _

_ And I know that love doesn’t kill you _

_ But then can you tell me why _

_ I’ve stopped living since then? _

_ Because you’re not in my hands, _

_ Because you’re not in my tomorrows. _

_ Because you’re now between my fingers like a story already done. _

_ Because you’re not in my mind as a memory to save. _

_ Because you’re not in my thoughts  _

_ Yet you were there yesterday.” _

For the first time since the beginning of the song, Louis’ voice seems to break.  Harry still feels every word as if it were a physical punch, and he selfishly hopes that all the pain he’s in right now hits Louis ten times harder. 

He's shaking badly, and at this point he can’t tell if it’s just his old, lingering pain, or shock and anger combined for being thrown blindfolded in what feels like an ocean in a full raging storm. 

Numbly, he realizes it’s probably a brutal cocktail of all three.

_ “I see you written on every wall, _

_ Every song tells me about you. _

_ You're everywhere, but not with me.  _

_ We built up walls that buried us alive. _

_ And for what it's worth I still find you between one brick and the other.” _

As the last chord of the chorus dies, Harry finds himself unable to move. 

There’s a fire burning through his veins and it’s mixed with every ugly feeling he’s ever felt. 

And while he’s full-on sobbing with his head bent on the steering wheel, and his heart feels so bruised that every beat physically hurts, he wonders how and when this agony will stop. 

If all they had is really gone, if the life ahead of him is truly life without Louis, if this is  _ really  _ what it’s meant to be, then when will the pain stop? When will these nasty bleeding cuts in his soul finally heal? 

Every wound heals, he thinks desperately. Even the deepest wounds heal sooner or later. Time heals everything, they say.  _ Right? _

But Harry sadly realises, as he plays absently with his ring finger that, even after four months, still holds the faint weight of the ring that used to sit there, that these are scars that would probably never heal. They will inexorably continue to throb under the ringing of his heart. Every beat will be, at best, a whiplash, a stab, a lashing that will never fail to remind him how he got them, what he used to have and what he has lost. 

This is why certain wounds never stop bleeding. That's why they never heal. 

In a moment he feels exhausted, drained. He picks up his phone, ignores every missed call and messages, and composes the only number he hasn’t dared to call for the past four months. 

It rings just one time before there’s a faint whispered  _ ‘Harry’  _ on the other line. 

It brings another ugly, loud sob out of Harry’s mouth and with a last effort he gasps, “How could you?” before letting the phone slip from his hands as he starts to wheeze. 

* 

Thirty excruciating minutes later, that felt more or less like an eternity or two combined together, Harry is staring at the pristine ceiling of his living room. He doesn’t think his heart has stopped his rabbiting for a second, but at least he got his lungs to operate. Well, that’s not completely true, but at least he’s not attached to the inhaler anymore. 

He’s lying face up on the sofa and he just feels tired, drained, and he wishes it was just a bad dream. Sometimes it happens. His dreams have gotten so vivid and intense lately that he usually wakes himself up with his own screaming. 

Unfortunately the sensation that the warm sunshine rays, seeping through the big windows surrounding the living room, give on his thighs tell him this is nothing but real. That and the incessant vibrations of his phone constantly ringing. 

He answers with a huffed “Yeah?” without even checking the caller ID. 

“Oh, Harry.” It’s Gemma and the sympathy in her voice almost makes the situation ten times worse and Harry’s blood pumps with a new wave of anger. 

“God, Gemma, who died?” he jokes sarcastically.

“Did you hear-” 

“Yes.” Harry answers quickly without letting her finish. 

She sighs loudly, “it's a beautiful song, Harry”, she says then softly. 

Harry releases a bitter laugh, “thanks Gemma,” he spits venomously whilst gathering the strength to get up. The liquor’s cupboard looks highly inviting and, for once, he is not against getting bashed before noon. Drinking after 6pm it’s a stupid rule anyway. Fuck the rules. Fuck  _ everything _ . “Not really in the mood to discuss his ability as a songwriter.” 

“That’s not- Harry,” she sighs again, like she’s carefully choosing the right words to say and he can almost feel her frustration, “I just wanted to check on you.” 

“Look, I’m fine, ok? I’m fine. Everything is fine.” He hastily punches the cupboard open with his free hand and grabs the first bottle he can reach. Rum. Fucking perfect. He twists the cork out with his teeth, spits it out to land somewhere on the pristine white texture of the carpet and takes a big gulp straight out of the bottle. He doesn’t even flinch at the sour taste burning his throat. “Everything is fucking  _ grand _ .” 

“Harry-” 

“I said I’m fine, Gemma. Leave it. Gotta go now, bye.” 

Harry can still hear the faint “No, Harry, wait-” before he presses the red button on his screen. 

“I’m sorry, Gems.” he whispers right before taking another sip. 

Harry starts pacing in circles around the coffee table, bottle of rum in his left hand and cell phone still in the other. 

They set it up about a year ago. It's fancy looking and sturdy as hell, all made of light-coloured marble and a solid base of steel as base. They had to change it because one night they got into such an intense tickle fight that Louis, trying to escape, ran straight into the old one, made entirely of glass, shattering it into billion pieces. Everything stopped for a few moments, even the air seemed to be frozen in time. Harry had been so worried, he rushed by Louis side immediately, shock still clear on both their faces, but as soon as it was clear that the damage applied only to the poor coffee table – luckily they were wearing shoes – they looked at each other and started laughing, adrenaline still running through their veins. Then the laughs became gentle kisses and Harry painfully remembers how difficult it was to pick up a laughing Louis whilst trying at the same time to kiss him and not drop him in a sea of shattered glass. They were so happy. 

It was one of the few last good moments before everything started to go all wrong. 

He used to love this table. They were both young when they bought the house years ago, so at the time they hired an interior designer to furnish it all and although they were really involved in every decision and loved the final result, the fact that they chose that table together, in their adult years, always made Harry strangely emotional. 

It doesn't look that great now. 

Harry takes another sip from the bottle and spins around slowly to take in the living room. Every piece of furniture is a memory. Every inch of smooth parquet is a written page of their love story. 

He sighs and drops his head. He used to love this house so fucking much. 

But everything is different now that Louis has left. 

Everything is more out of focus, less bright. The walls, the sofa, the kitchen, their bed - they all have lost their familiarity, their warmth. Harry comes every day to a house that doesn’t feel like home anymore. Every night he prepares dinner in a kitchen that’s always too quiet, cooks a meal that ends up always being too much for one person only and every night he sleeps on a bed that is always too cold. Always so fucking cold. 

Even the light is different. 

Life post-Louis is a distant, distorted memory of a happier time. It’s dull, damaged, dark - Harry once spent an entire afternoon trying to find every damn negative adjective starting with ‘D’. 

That’s how different his life is. Louis is not in it anymore and he desperately tries to fill the void as best as he can. 

Louis left –  _ How many adjectives can I find starting with ‘D’. _

Louis left –  _ Do dogs get cold ears? _

Louis left –  _ How many cold days we had back in 2011? _

Louis left –  _ How long can you count seconds until you lose track? _

But Louis  _ left _ … And sometimes it’s just that. 

He was the perfect wave to crash against Harry and whilst he was there everything was flooded of light and joy, happiness and warmth and after everything was just… submerged, silent and cold. 

And Harry is just the wreck left underneath the cliffs. 

The unexpected sharp vibration of his phone in his loose fist is what brings him out of his trance. It's Niall and although he feels a bite of guilt in his stomach he can’t bring himself to answer. Harry knows Niall means well, he knows Gemma did too, they all do, every single person who’s trying to check on him - he’s just not ready. 

He puts down the rum and unceremoniously drops his phone on the coffee table then promptly collapses on the sofa, head hung over the back. He's just about to close his eyes to try and sleep off all the tiredness, to make his mind heal without having to cope with the tragic reality he’s living, when someone rings the intercom. 

Harry groans, but doesn’t move. It rings twice again, Harry still doesn’t move. 

Not even a minute goes by and there’s another ring, this time it’s from the doorbell. Harry's eyes flash open in alarm, a sparkle of fear running through his veins. No one should be able to get to the main door. Harry jumps on his feet and takes exactly one step before stopping, his mind is running fast trying to outline all the possibilities but none of his friends have the keys to the main gates, nor his family and no one would come unannounced anyway. Did someone break in? But that would have surely set the main alarm off, wouldn’t it? Harry looks quickly at all the big windows that go all around the living room trying to get a peek outside. He quickly turns around to get to the kitchen where the screen of the security cameras is on 24/7, but all the blood in his veins runs cold the moment he hears the noise of a key turning into the lock. He frantically starts looking around himself for an object to use a defence of some sort. Whoever it is, Harry’s gonna show them how- 

“Oh.” 

Harry spins around so quickly that it gives him whiplash, like he’s heard of a ghost. And isn’t that right, because stood there, wearing his most pained expression, is Louis. 

“What the fuck?” Harry manages to whisper despite his body being absolutely petrified. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- I've still got the keys.” Louis says frantically, pointing with his thumb behind himself, while he lifts the other hand with said set of keys in it. “You weren’t answering and I just got worried. You hung up so quickly... I was just trying to-” 

“To do what, Louis?” 

Louis chuckles, but it’s all wrong. There used to be angel symphonies and crinkled eyes whenever he smiled - Harry used to joke that every time Louis laughed a butterfly was born somewhere. All Harry hears and see now is his labored breath and Louis’ apologetic face. “Do the right thing, I guess? Check up on y-” 

Harry scoffs. “The right thing? Really? The right thing?” He’s full on laughing, he doesn’t know why but he can’t  _ stop _ . “The right thing would have been giving me a heads up on the whole situation. Like, ‘ _ Hey, son of a bitch, I’m releasing a song about us. Enjoy going to hell. _ ’ that would have sufficed. Better yet, the right thing would have been not releasing that damn song at all. But hey, I bet that’s what you wanted, uh?” Harry spits venomously, “well, congratulations. Well played. Hats off and all that fucking jazz. You managed once again to hurt me, you should be really fucking proud of yours-” 

“I can’t believe you, you utterly hopeless bastard. I didn’t do it to hurt  _ you _ ,” Louis says in a rush, taking a charged step forward, and the way he says the word strikes Harry down like a pin under a bowling ball, “I did it for  _ me _ .  _ I  _ needed to let it out, I needed to-” 

“Oh poor you, boohoo.” Harry fires in a mocking tone, head lolling from side to side and lips in a fake pout, “Poor devastated Louis. Do me a favour? You brought this on yourself, asshole, don’t try to blame _ me _ -” 

“I’m not blaming anyone, you motherfucker!” Louis fires back before taking a deep breath, he steps forward again and carries on more calmly. “It was just too much ok? I had to let it all out in some way and I-” 

“You left!” Harry spits in a loud voice, arms flying everywhere, “ _ you  _ left!” 

“Yes I did, Harry. Yes, I did!” Louis answers in an equal raised tone. “And there’s not a day that goes by in which I don’t beat myself for it. I never intended for it to go this far, I just needed to clear my head, go for a walk, stay away for a couple of days maybe, I don’t know! But then the day passed by and you never called either-” 

“Ah, see? Blaming me again. Sure Louis,  _ you  _ left and I should have called. Yeah, sure I see the logic. You’re a manipulative son of a bitch, you know that? But if that helps you sleep at night carry on, I guess-” 

“I’m a manipulative son of a bitch?” Louis shouts again, getting closer with a few more steps, “I am? Because if I remember correctly all of this started because you said-” 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it! I can’t believe you, you absolute bastard.” Tears are pricking the corner of his eyes but Harry doesn’t care at all. He takes a step forward, they’re practically face to face. “I have loved you for ten years, you disgusting piece of shit. Ten years of my fucking life and all it took for you to walk out that door was-” 

“And what, now you’re doubting  _ my  _ love? Oh, I see how it is. And I’m the manipulative one. Sure Harry, keep telling yourself that. You’re right, I didn’t love you at all, it was all just a game for me.” Louis laughs bitterly. “A ten year long game where I’ve gone through hell and back a few times just to earn the  _ right  _ to be with you, you fucking _prick_!” Another bitter laugh slips past his lips while tears are falling down his cheeks, “should have chosen something easier for a ‘game’, would have costed me way less-” 

“Oh, I’m sorry Louis.” Harry says in a sob. “I'm so sorry that loving me was such a burden for you. I guess you took the right decision then, I wouldn’t want you to-” 

“Fuck you, you fucker!” Louis shouts while giving Harry a push by the shoulders. “You’re a fucking wanker.” 

“No, Louis, fuck  _ you _ .” Harry pushes back. “Fuck you, for all these years.” Another push back. “Fuck you for making me feel like this, even now, even when I should hate you completely.” The tears that were once pricking his eyes, are properly falling in waves by now. His vision is all blurry, Louis' face is just a blob of colour. “Fuck you for making me think we were capable of a love that would’ve conquered anything and everything only to be left with  _ nothing _ . Nothing, Louis. You left me empty and I don’t even know what to do with myself-” 

Kisses shouldn’t feel that good when the wetness comes from the tears they are both spilling, Harry thinks.

Kisses should be made of summertime heat and fluttering of butterflies' wings. Kisses should have the bitter taste of morning breaths and the bubbling excitement of inebriated tongues on a night out. Kisses should come with the calming and comforting feeling of a lazy Sunday spent cuddling on the sofa and with the frenzy turmoil of shivering legs and flickering hearts when you get in bed together at night. 

That's what Harry has been used to all his life. That's what he knows. 

But as Louis keeps on kissing him, hands strongly framing Harry’s head as if in fear of seeing him disappear in a dust cloud in the next second, all Harry can do is squeeze him back. Arms strongly latched around Louis’ waist and hands fisting the hoodie he is wearing. And it’s not only a ‘I’m not going anywhere’, it’s a ‘I’m here, and I’m scared too and I’ve missed you too’. 

And when Louis bites Harry's lip and Harry reciprocates with a nip of his own, it’s also a little punishment for the pain they inflicted on each other. It’s an ‘I'm sorry, I never meant to hurt you’ and a ‘Fuck you, you tore every piece of me apart’. 

“I love you. I always loved you and I never stopped doing so.” Louis whispers, taking his lips away from Harry’s, their foreheads squished together. “I fell in love with you when I didn’t even know what love  _ meant _ . I was just a kid and I fell in love with you like it was the easiest thing. Easy as learning to walk, to talk, to keep breathing. You came along, and in an instant, it didn’t matter how dangerous it was, how many battles I’d have to fight to keep you because I knew right from the start that a life without you was a life not worth living.” 

Harry chuckles, face nuzzling in Louis’ hand that is still holding his cheek. “You were eighteen, we were young and love-drunk, you had  _ no idea _ of how difficult it-” 

Louis smoothly slides a hand down and lightly pinches Harry’s side, “Not the point, Harold.” he says with a smile and a light laugh escapes Harry’s lips, before he whispers a breathed “ _ OK _ ”. “The point is, we had it pretty bad from the beginning. The management, the lies and secrets we had to keep with our families, the beards, you basically being a whore in every paper-” 

“Hey!” Harry interrupts Louis with a whine, but the way his face is scrunching tells Louis that he’s trying hard not to laugh. 

“Well, you were.” he says with a dismissive hand gesture, like he’s stating the obvious. “Jumping from bed to bed and a bleached model to another while I,” Louis says batting his pretty eyelashes, “ _ I  _ was the perfect example of a thoughtful boyfrieAAAH-” 

Louis shrieks when Harry starts tickling him, throwing him on the sofa behind them. They tickle fight, laughing in each other mouths for a few minutes until Louis brings his legs around Harry’s waist and brings him closer so he can kiss him again, and it’s just a peck, just a little innocent thing, but Harry’s heart roars in a way he had feared he’d have never be able to experience again. He sighs contently and wiggles in Louis’ arms in order to be able to scoot down enough to lay his head on Louis’ chest. 

“The point is,” Louis whispers while cradling his fingers in Harry’s hair, “I learned how to love you before anything else. And despite everything else, baby, despite anything that could be thrown at us, the world could end for all I care,” Harry lifts his head and the look in Louis’ eyes is strong enough to make his heart jump right in his throat, “I’ll keep loving you until the day I die. I swear. If it’s the last goddamn thing I do.” 

“Damn you, you beautiful bastard.” Harry chuckles shaking his head, “you've always had your fucking way with words.” Harry whispers after a few seconds, before leaping up to kiss Louis with everything he has. “I didn’t stand a chance. Not a single fucking one.” 

They kiss for a few moments before reality comes crashing on both of them. They need to talk, they still need to figure their shit out, literally, but at the same time Harry hasn’t kissed Louis in months and he’s not about to let it go now that he has it. Four months without feeling his warmth, without feeling how the shape of Louis’ body fits perfectly with his own. Four excruciating long months of mourning Louis’ absence like a death. 

No, Harry is not about to let it go now that he’s finally living his dreams and when Louis tightens his legs around his waist, Harry knows they’re on the same page. 

From that moment on is quite predictable how the kisses turn heated, how gentle touches become proper groping. Harry is not even surprised when Louis literally rips his shirt off of him and he can’t breathe from the fire burning in his veins. 

Harry starts pawing at Louis’s jumper hoping he will get the message and sit up a bit to help him remove it but the moment is so charged that Louis sits up without considering that Harry is on top of him and they both tumble off the sofa, landing in a mess of limbs on the plush carpet. 

Harry lands with his back on the floor in a soft thud, Louis following suit on his knee, half straddling Harry’s hips. His hands land forcefully on Harry’s chest while he tries to not lose his balance and topple over. 

But the moment of shock doesn’t stop them, it’s not enough to stop the want in their hands to just to feel one another. Louis recovers first and the first thing he does is rip off his jumper and t-shirt all in one go, then he lowers his torso just enough to be able to nibble on Harry’s nipples while frantically starting to undo the button of Harry’s jeans. 

Harry throws his head back and arches his back to keep Louis’ mouth closer, while his hands fly to grip Louis’ feathery hair. Louis bites and licks at his nipples, at his chest, like he’s a starved man in front of a feast. The moan that rips out of Harry the moment he finally reaches his cock under his boxers is nothing short of animalistic. 

“Oh god,” Harry bites out, “Oh god, come here. Come here, let me kiss you.” 

Louis whines a little protest but in a second he’s devouring Harry’s lips and they both moan in unison when the position changes and Louis’ clothed cock brushes with Harry’s naked one. Without even making a conscious decision, Harry's hands fly to Louis’ hips to bring down the hem of his trackies. 

And isn’t that a game changer, Harry gets drunk on the burning feeling their grinding cocks are giving him and Louis must feel it too if the way he literally starts forcefully humping Harry’s hips is any sign. 

After so many months of solitary sad wanks, it really is no surprise that all it takes is just a few minutes of that delicious friction for Harry to feel the heat in his belly starting to grow. 

He whimpers and grips Louis’ hips tighter in order to stop him. “I don’t wanna come like this,” Harry pants, “it’s been too long, I want you in me.” 

“Yeah?” Louis’ drops down to kiss him again, “you’re that desperate to want me to fuck you right here on the floor?” he nibbles a bit on Harry’s lips, “you want it hard-” 

“ _ Not  _ the time to tease, Louis.” Harry grits out. 

Louis is too far gone as well to tease him much anyway, they start taking their bottoms off when he says in horror, “I don’t have anything- I mean, I didn’t think-” 

Harry stops him with another vigorous kiss, “The secret drawer under the coffee table,” he pants, “I never took the lube out.” 

Louis breathes out a relieved sigh and after finally taking off his pants and throwing them to land somewhere in the living room, he reaches out to slide out the little drawer underneath the table. “Whoever thought of putting this here was a fucking genius.” 

“I believe it was me.” 

Harry’s tone is playful and Louis has a remark ready on the tip of his tongue because in fact it was  _ him  _ the one who had this brilliant, magnificent idea but all the words die out in his throat the moment he spins around to face Harry. 

In the short time it took Louis to take his eyes off him to get the lube, Harry had managed to get stark naked as well, laid himself out on the soft white carpet that accentuate his figure gorgeously and is now waiting for Louis slowly stroking his cock with is legs bent at the knee and wide open, all the while smirking like he knows  _ exactly  _ what he’s doing to Louis. 

Louis brain short circuits. His mouth dries up, his vision gets all blurry with want and his ears start ringing so without even processing it he does the only possible thing: dive right in. He relishes in Harry’s moaned surprise but the taste alone takes him ten steps closer to coming with nothing touching his cock. He simultaneously gets his fingers wet with lube and without giving Harry any word of advice he pushes one finger in. 

“God, fuck!” Harry moans out loud, hips wiggling to get Louis’ mouth closer. They're already a panting, sweating mess and they haven’t even started. 

Louis keeps on opening him up with the same concentration of a man on a mission, hard and steady, slowly adding one more finger at a time. His mouth is sinful, alternating between licking and sucking on Harry’s rim and leaving little love bites that are now blossoming all over his crotch and thigh. It doesn't take long for Harry to start begging. 

“Louis.  _ Louis _ ,  _ please _ . Please.” 

“Alright baby, alright. Whatever you want.” Louis murmurs and gives Harry’s thigh one last bite, he uses the remaining lube on his hand to slick himself up. “Everything. Going to give you everything.” 

Harry grabs his shoulders to bring Louis in a passionate kiss, tongues meeting halfway before the lips can. Louis is just about to position himself when he stops, body going rigid. 

“What is it?” Harry asks panting, “Baby, what is it?” 

Louis looks pained, Harry can see it despite him looking down where their bodies are almost united. When he finally looks up into Harry’s eyes, there’s uncertainty written clearly all over his face. “Should we use a cond-” 

Harry doesn’t let him finish, “You don’t seriously think that I could have-” he gasps, eyes widening in realisation. “Did you?” he asks, tone hard. His torso shoots up, hands fisting the carpet underneath, “I swear to God, Louis-” 

Louis hands shoots up immediately to cradle his face, lube and all. “No, no, baby  _ no _ . Of course not. How could I-” 

“Then why-” 

“I just didn’t want to assume. I-” 

“You’re an idiot.” Harry murmurs, gripping hard Louis’ neck until he can kiss him again. “As if there could have been anyone else. As if I could-” 

Harry's moan rips through the air like a lightning strike. “A little bit of warning next time.” He grits out, conflicted between the pain and the intense please. 

“I’m sorry.” Louis pants, hips thrusting with long strokes into Harry. “I couldn’t wait.” he lets out another grunt, “Not with you telling me that-” another moan cuts his words short. 

“What? Telling you that you’re the only one?” Harry gasps breathless, “That I love you so much that not even in my wildest dreams I could find someone else to-” 

“Stop talking.” Louis grunts with a bite into Harry’s collarbones. “Stop- just stop talking.” he pleads. “ _ God _ , I missed fucking you so much.” He wails.

His hips are moving faster and faster and he’s fucking Harry so hard that at every thrust Harry moves a few inches up on the carpet. 

Harry is moaning so loud that his throat feels hoarse, he cradles Louis’ face between his hands and when their eyes lock, he manages to gasp out a feeble “I love you.” Louis closes his eyes and grunts, slamming his hips hard into him and Harry cries out in pleasure. “I’ve loved you since I was sixteen.” Louis gives one last push well aimed to Harry’s prostate and that’s all it takes for Harry to come untouched. 

The look on Louis’ face is maniac and he’s thrusting so hard that the noise their skin makes on contact is louder than their moans. He’s looking down between their bodies, at where Harry’s belly is covered in come and sweat. He sneaks in one of his hands, palm down and fingers opening in the mess of fluids but all it takes for him to reach his orgasm is Harry’s whispered “I love you. And I always will.” After that, Louis slams into him one more time and Harry feels him coming in long spurts inside of him with a low growl. 

Louis collapses on top of Harry. Their breaths are laboured, hearts pumping loudly in their chest, so strongly that Harry feels Louis’ own on his chest. 

They lay there panting, bodies cooling down while Harry’s drying up come is starting to itch their bellies and yet the happy sighs they both emit are a sign that neither of them would rather be anywhere else. Harry tightens his legs around Louis’ hips and his arms come up to cage him in a strong embrace. 

They stay like that for a while and when Louis starts to shiver Harry eventually pulls at the throw blanket that was neatly folded on the sofa and covers them up. They can get cleaned later, it’s fine. 

The sky outside has turned a nasty grey colour, a stark contrast from the shiny sun that he left outside before Louis’ arrival. It looks exactly like Harry feels, like the world just got turned upside down. Distant thunders can be heard over the pitter-pattering noise of the rain against the windows. 

Another big storm is coming. 

Harry thinks it’s fitting. 

“So.” Louis says after a while, body wrapped around Harry’s, the tip of his nose gently tickling Harry’s neck. “It’s supposed to get cooler from tomorrow on.” 

“Funny.” Harry’s replies smiling, his hand automatically coming up to intertwine with the one that Louis rested on his chest, “it feels like it’s getting warmer.” 

\- _fin_ -

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I appreciate every single one of you a lot. 
> 
> I must thank the amazing Gina for giving me the push I know I needed and for starting betaing my nonsense. Also OhHarold for picking up the rest, making sure I didn't present you a fic with horrid grammar mistakes and for saving me from not knowing how to turn a photo in black and white. Thank you very much, from the bottom of my heart, to both of you.
> 
> A/N: the song is actually a mix between pieces of my own poetry and quotes from songs that I love.


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